‘Thanks to Rufus’s business acumen, he is already one of the richest men in London.’ Zachary bared his teeth in a brief smile before just as quickly sobering. ‘Nevertheless, I will happily give him the money, if it will ensure that you believe I am sincere in my declaration of love for you. If you will only consent to become my wife as soon as it can be arranged?’

  Georgianna had no idea what she had expected the outcome of her visit here this evening to be, but she knew she had certainly never expected it to be the complete and utter happiness of hearing Hawksmere declare his love for her and his asking her to marry him.

  Her vision was blurred by those tears of happiness. ‘You truly love me?’

  ‘To the point of madness,’ Zachary assured fervently. ‘Indeed, I believe I have been half-insane with the emotion these past few days.’ The intensity of his gaze held her. ‘I love you so very much, Georgianna Rose Lancaster.’

  ‘As I love you, Zachary Richard Edward Black,’ she answered him huskily. ‘Completely. And always.’

  His face lit up. ‘Then put all of the past behind us and consent to marry me.’

  She swallowed. ‘Are you absolutely sure that is what you want, Zachary? My reappearance in society is still tenuous.’

  ‘What are you suggesting, Georgianna?’ Zachary demanded. ‘That I should make you my mistress rather than marry you? That I should hide you away somewhere?’

  ‘I am something of a novelty in society just now, Zachary, but if anyone should ever learn of my elopement with André...’

  ‘They will not discover it,’ Zachary announced arrogantly. ‘And even if they did, none would dare to question the reputation of the Duchess of Hawksmere.’

  It was a name, a title, when used in connection to herself, that had once filled Georgianna with such dread. Now it only filled her with a happiness that threatened to overwhelm her. ‘I am so in love with you, Zachary. So very, very much, my darling. And if you are serious in your proposal of marriage...?’

  ‘I will accept nothing less,’ he assured firmly.

  She glowed up at him. ‘Then I believe I should much prefer that you keep the Hawksmere fortune intact for our children, when they are born.’

  ‘Georgianna?’ Zachary had almost been afraid to hope, to dream, that Georgianna would ever accept his proposal. ‘You truly will consent to become my wife?’ His fingers tightened painfully about hers. ‘You will marry me as soon as a special licence can be arranged?’

  She nodded happily. ‘And Jeffrey shall give me away and one of your friends, Wolfingham, perhaps, shall stand up with you. Oh, yes, I will marry you, Zachary. Yes, yes, please, yes.’ She launched herself into his arms as his mouth swooped down to once again claim hers.

  ‘You were very brave to come here alone this evening, my love,’ Zachary murmured admiringly some time later, Georgianna’s head resting on his chest as the two of them lay on the chaise in his study together. He played with her curls, having once again released her hair so that it cascaded loosely down her back.

  She laughed softly, contentedly, the two of them having professed their love for each other over and over again this past hour or more. ‘To confront the fierce lion in his den?’

  ‘To have completely tamed the lion in his den,’ Zachary corrected with humour. ‘Indeed, I find I am so much in love with you I very much doubt I shall ever be able to deny you anything in future, love.’

  Georgianna hesitated, knowing that there was still one thing that she had not confessed to her beloved. The last confession.

  When she first returned to England she had been too angry at Hawksmere’s incarceration of her, to talk of such things, and since then there had been no right time, no opportunity, for her to do so.

  ‘What is it, Georgia?’ Zachary sat up slightly as he sensed her sudden tension. His hands gently cupped either side of her face as he looked down at her searchingly. ‘Tell me, my love.’

  She chewed on her bottom lip. ‘I— It is only— A lady should not talk of such things,’ she choked out emotionally.

  ‘Now you are seriously worrying me, love.’ Zachary frowned. ‘We have talked about so much this past hour. The past, the now, our future together. What on earth is there that still bothers you so much that you look as if you are about to cry?’

  Georgianna felt as if she were about to cry. It was all too embarrassing. Too humiliating.

  Her gaze dropped from his as she moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. ‘When I eloped with André...’

  ‘I thought we had agreed earlier that we would not discuss that ever again,’ Zachary reminded with chiding gentleness.

  ‘Just this one thing, Zachary,’ she pleaded. ‘It is important, if we are to be married.’

  ‘We are most certainly going to be married and sooner rather than later.’ Zachary had never been as happy as he had felt this past hour of knowing that Georgianna loved him, that she had consented to marry him. He could not bear it if that happiness—if a lifetime with Georgianna as his wife, should ever be snatched away from him.

  ‘Whatever you have yet to tell me, never doubt my love for you, Georgianna. Never. Do you understand?’ He held her tightly against him. ‘Be assured, nothing you have to say, now or in the future, will ever change that,’ he added with certainty.

  Georgianna looked up at him wonderingly, moved beyond measure at the knowledge that Zachary loved her so deeply, so unconditionally. The same deep intensity of emotion with which she now loved him. ‘It is nothing bad, my love,’ she assured huskily as she reached up to stroke his cheek. ‘Only embarrassing for me to speak of,’ she conceded ruefully.

  ‘I grow more intrigued by the moment, my love.’ He eyed her quizzically.

  ‘Where to start?’ Georgianna pulled out of his arms before standing up and turning away slightly, her hands clasped tightly together in front of her. ‘When I eloped with André—allow me to finish, my love, please!’ she begged as Zachary made a noise of protest. ‘We spent several uncomfortable days being jostled about in the coach together on the way to the seaport. We passed the sea journey as brother and sister in separate cabins. And once we reached Paris...’ She gave a shake of her head. ‘You are well aware of what transpired within days of our reaching the French capital.’

  Zachary’s narrowed gaze remained intently on Georgianna as he slowly stood up to move softly to her side, reaching down to lift her chin so that he might gaze down directly, searchingly, into the frankness of those violet-coloured eyes. ‘Are you saying...?’ He drew in a sharp breath, hardly daring to believe.

  ‘I am saying that André and I had never shared any more than a few chaste kisses before we eloped and that he did not so much as kiss me during the whole of our journey to France.’

  ‘Georgianna?’

  She swallowed. ‘The intensity, depth, of our own lovemaking was—is, the first I have ever known.’

  ‘Can it be? Are you a virgin still, Georgianna?’ Zachary prompted tensely.

  The colour deepened in her cheeks as she nodded. ‘I could not bear to tell you before now.’ She grasped tightly to the front of his waistcoat as she gazed up at him imploringly. ‘The Zachary I met on my return to England would have enjoyed tormenting me with that knowledge. Would have mocked and taunted me as to André’s disinterest in me. Would have—’

  ‘Hush, my love.’ Zachary placed a silencing fingertip against her lips, his heart having swelled almost to bursting point in his chest.

  He had long ago accepted that Georgianna had been Rousseau’s lover and it had made no difference to the deep love and admiration, respect, that he now felt for her. But to now realise, to know, that Georgianna had never, would never, belong to any other man but him?

  It was a priceless gift. A gift beyond anything Zachary might ever have imagined.

  ‘I took such liberties with you.’ He groaned, disgusted with himself. ‘I was far too rough in my lovemaking. Too advanced in the things I did to you and demanded from you in return.’

  ‘I loved the way you made love to me, Zachary, and so enjoyed making love to you,’ she admitted shyly. ‘Indeed, I cannot wait to repeat it.’

  ‘That will not happen until after we are married,’ he assured her determinedly.

  She chuckled throatily. ‘Can it be that Zachary Black, the arrogant and haughty Duke of Hawksmere, has now become prim and respectable?’

  ‘You may take it that Zachary Black, the arrogant and haughty Duke of Hawksmere,’ he repeated huskily, ‘intends to cherish and love, to make love to, Georgianna Rose Black, Duchess of Hawksmere, and only Georgianna Rose Black, Duchess of Hawksmere, for the rest of their lives together.’

  It was so much more, so indescribably, wonderfully, ecstatically more than Georgianna Rose Lancaster, soon to be Black, could ever have hoped or dreamed of.

  Darian Hunter: Duke of Desire

  Carole Mortimer

  The Players:

  Darian Hunter, Duke of Wolfingham: legendary rake and notorious bachelor

  Mariah Beecham, Countess of Carlisle: society’s scandalous widow and secret agent of the crown

  The Stage:

  A notoriously debauched house party

  The Scene:

  Forced to pose as lovers, Darian and Mariah must work together to stop an assassination plot

  The Twist:

  As the shocking and oh-so-sensual games play out around them, the romantic ruse becomes all too real. And the tantalizing temptation to indulge their every desire becomes overwhelming…

  My good friend, Susan Stephens.

  What fun we have on our travels!

  Prologue

  March 1815—White’s Club, London

  ‘You wanted to speak to me?’

  Having been perusing today’s newspaper, whilst seated in an otherwise deserted private room of his club, Darian Hunter, the Duke of Wolfingham, now continued reading to the end of the article before folding the broadsheet neatly into four and placing it down on the low table beside him. He then glanced up at the fashionably dressed young gentleman who had addressed him so aggressively. ‘And a good afternoon to you, too, Anthony,’ he greeted his younger brother calmly.

  Anthony eyed him impatiently. ‘Do not come the haughty duke with me, Darian! Most especially when I know it is you who wished to speak with me rather than the other way about. You have left messages for me all over town,’ he reminded as Darian raised dark brows questioningly. ‘I presumed the matter must be of some urgency?’

  ‘Is that why it has taken you those same two days to respond to those messages?’ Darian was not fooled for a moment by his brother’s bluster. He knew that his brother always went on the attack when he knew he was in the wrong, but was refusing to admit it.

  ‘I have better things to do with my time than seek out the more often than not elusive Duke of Wolfingham—even if he does happen to be my big brother as well as my guardian. The latter for only another three months, I thank heavens!’

  ‘Oh, do sit down, Anthony,’ Darian snapped. ‘You are making the place look untidy.’

  Anthony gave a wicked grin at having obviously succeeded in irritating Darian as he threw himself down into the chair opposite. He was dressed in the height of fashion as usual, in his jacket of royal blue, with a bright blue-and-green paisley-patterned waistcoat beneath and buff-coloured pantaloons, his dark hair rakishly overlong and falling across his brow. ‘When did you get back to town?’

  ‘Two days ago, obviously,’ Darian drawled.

  ‘And you immediately sought me out?’ Anthony raised mocking brows. ‘I am flattered, brother.’

  ‘Don’t be,’ he advised pointedly.

  His brother now raised his gaze heavenwards. ‘What have I done to annoy you this time? Overspent at my tailor’s? Gambled at the cards a little too heavily?’

  ‘If only it was your usual irresponsible behaviour then I should not have needed to speak with you at all, but merely dealt with the matter as I always do,’ Darian drawled in a bored voice. ‘I am sure we are both well aware of why it is I wished to speak with you, Anthony,’ he added softly.

  ‘Not the slightest idea.’ The fact that Anthony shifted uncomfortably, his gaze now avoiding meeting Darian’s as a slight flush coloured his cheeks, instantly gave lie to the claim.

  Darian gave a humourless smile. ‘Do not force me to mention the lady by name.’

  Anthony narrowed eyes as emerald green as Darian’s own, the two of them very alike in colouring and looks, and so obviously brothers, in spite of the eight years’ difference in their ages; Darian aged two and thirty to his brother’s four and twenty. ‘If you are referring to the actress with whom I had a liaison last month, then I do not even recall her name—’

  ‘I am not.’

  Anthony gave an exaggerated stretch of his shoulders. ‘Then give me a clue, brother, because I have absolutely no idea what—or possibly who?—you might be referring to.’

  Darian’s mouth firmed at his brother’s determination not to make this an easy conversation. For either of them. ‘It has been brought to my attention that you have been seen in the company of a certain lady, more often than is socially acceptable.’

  Anthony stilled. ‘Indeed?’

  Darian nodded. ‘And while it is perfectly acceptable for you to discreetly indulge in a gentleman’s diversions, this particular lady could never be considered as being in the least discreet. Indeed, she is—’

  ‘Have a care, Darian,’ Anthony warned softly.

  ‘Her associations, past and present, mean she is not a woman with whom it is acceptable for a gentleman of your standing to indulge in these diversions,’ Darian maintained determinedly. ‘You—’ He broke off as Anthony sprang lightly to his feet, hands clenched into fists at his sides as he glared down at Darian. ‘I have not finished—’

  ‘In regard to this particular lady, I assure you that you have indeed finished,’ Anthony said fiercely. ‘And might I say that you have a damned nerve, daring to lecture me about my behaviour, when you have only just returned from spending almost two weeks in the company of whatever doxy it was who had so taken your fancy you might have disappeared off the edge of the earth! Or perhaps it is that you consider a duke is allowed to live by different standards than us mere mortals?’

  Darian lowered heavy lids as he flicked an imaginary speck of lint from the sleeve of his jacket, at the same time avoiding meeting his brother’s accusing gaze.

  Not because he had just spent almost two weeks with his latest doxy. ‘Latest doxy’? Darian could not even remember the last time he had spent any length of time in a woman’s company, let alone her bed.

  No, the reason for his avoidance of Anthony’s probing gaze was because he had not been in a woman’s company at all, but had spent almost two weeks across the sea in France, acting secretly as an agent for the Crown.

  Almost two weeks when he and his good friend Zachary Black, the Duke of Hawksmere, had roamed the French countryside, and then Paris itself, as they endeavoured to gauge how the French people themselves felt about Napoleon’s return, the emperor having recently escaped from Elba and currently on his way to the French capital.

  Not even Darian’s own brother was aware of the work he had undertaken for the Crown these past five years. Anthony certainly had no idea that Darian had suffered a bullet wound to the shoulder just days ago, a souvenir of this last foray into France. And that he was suffering with the pain and discomfort of that wound even now.

  Something that had not improved his temper in the slightest. ‘Perhaps you would care to lower your voice?’

  ‘Why should I, when there is no one else here to hear us?’ Anthony challenged as he looked about the otherwise empty room.

  Darian sighed. ‘I am well aware that this lady has certain attributes that you—most gentlemen!—might find diverting. But she is not a discreet woman. Far from it, if gossip is to be believed. People in society are starting to comment upon your marked attentions to her.’

  ‘Then let them,’ Anthony dismissed with bravado.

  He sighed. ‘It simply will not do, Anthony.’

  ‘Says who? You?’ his brother challenged, aggressive once again. ‘I am almost five and twenty, Darian, not five. Nor,’ he added darkly, ‘do I appreciate your interference in this matter.’

  ‘Even when I have your best interests at heart?’

  ‘Not when I am in love with the lady, no.’

  Darian held on to his temper with difficulty, having had no idea that his brother’s affections had become engaged to such a degree. A physical diversion, if discreetly handled, was acceptable; a love affair most certainly was not. ‘I am sure the lady has certain charms and experience, which you obviously find attractive. But it would be a mistake on your part to confuse lust with love.’

  ‘How dare you?’ Anthony challenged fiercely, his face having become a mottled and angry red. ‘My intentions towards the lady are completely honourable!’

  Then it was worse even than Darian had feared. ‘By all means continue to bed her then, Anthony, if that is your wish. All I am asking is that you at least try to make less of the association when the two of you are in public.’

  ‘Continue to—’ Anthony looked as if he might now explode with the depth of his fury. ‘I have not laid so much as an indelicate finger upon the lady. Nor do I intend to do so until after I have made her my wife.’

  Now it was Darian’s turn to stand up, his shock at this announcement too great to be contained. ‘You cannot even think of making such a woman your wife!’

  ‘Such a woman? You damned hypocritical prig!’ Anthony glared at him, eyes glittering darkly. ‘You return from who knows where, after spending days, almost two weeks, in some woman’s bed, and you have the nerve to tell me how I might conduct my own life. Whom I may or may not marry! Well, I shall have none of it, Darian,’ he dismissed heatedly. ‘In just a few more weeks I shall have control of my own life and my own fortune, and when I do I shall marry whom, and when, I damn well please.’